


Drown

by This_is_your_Heichou_speaking



Series: Cross My Heart [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Also I'm not sure what Harry is so just go with it, By drowning, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 18:24:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10038209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking/pseuds/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking
Summary: Betaed by Rei





	

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by Rei

 

When he had made the decision to jump into the waters, he'd expected many things. None of them were what he saw now.

The sea was cold as frost and just as harsh, and black enough that it may as well have been ink. Black enough that, even with a full moon, he could barely see his own fingers when he spread them an inch from his face. But he could see the eyes.

They were green and otherworldly, and suddenly he felt fear like he'd never imagined, cold fingers of dread gripping onto his heart, turning his blood to ice.

He wasn't afraid of death, or he'd never have jumped, but this.

This was a worse fate.

He must've been drowning, he thought vaguely as he caught a flash of sharp, white teeth. But it didn't matter much at this moment. He had only wanted to die, sick of life and all its shit, but now he imagined it preferable to whatever was down here.

This was a monster.

And yet...

He had seen these eyes before. Felt these hands upon his shoulders and tasted the teeth that gleamed in the dark. In another life, he had _known_  the monster before him, and it had not been a monster, but something beautiful and desirable. Something he'd loved.

And now there was stone in his stomach, pulling him down just as efficiently as any anchor could, and he remembered. This was _his_  doing. _He_  had hurt this creature, made it into what it was, and he was _guilty_.

He thought he was crying now, but who could tell, with water in every direction for an eternity? And even if someone could distinguish the tears from the seawater that they mixed in, who would care? Who, when he deserved all that came to him now?

"I'm so sorry!" he tried to shout, to scream. Water filled his throat in a rush, a wave of salt and the freezing, freezing cold, and suddenly he could feel nothing but the cold, for it was in him, a part of him. It was in his brain and his heart, spreading and reaching until there was not a part of him that didn't feel it so acutely that it was the only fact of life, of _existing_.

And yet, there were warm fingers that felt like a brand caressing his jaw, and lips like fire resting upon his brow. What was this purgatory he'd landed in, where he experienced both the heights of pleasure and the most excruciating of pain all at once? How was he still alive, how was his body able to bear all of this _sensation_ , and not just _stop_  from the intensity of it all?

And yet he still lived, and though he didn't breathe he barely noticed the burn in his lungs as the monster touched him, and was it really a monster? It was beautiful, a terrible, terrifying beauty and grace that he knew could kill, but it hadn't always been that. _He_  had turned him into this, had turned the boy he loved (soft smiles and sweet words) into something so foreign.

He was moving now, he knew. Whether up or down, he couldn't tell, but he was being pulled by his once lover, his _siren_ , and he was helpless to follow.

And then he was breathing in the fresh, cool air of the night as his head broke the surface, and he could see, now, mountains among hills in the distance, and little lights where men and women sunk into warm beds and, perhaps, each other.  
He could see green eyes, and they were so recognisable now, so familiar he wondered how he could ever have forgotten, when these eyes and lips and soul had once being (still were) the center of his universe.

"Harry," he whispered. His voice barely left his throat, so hoarse was it, but he was breathing, and alive, and he didn't regret it. Didn't hate him, _Harry_ , for saving his life when he was trying so desperately to end it, though he should. And perhaps, were it anyone else, he would. But he couldn't hate Harry, not when he loved him so (not when the guilt still lay heavy in his stomach).

The boy just smiled, eyes sad and mouth turned done in a melancholy pout. He pulled him back to shore in complete silence, pale fingers wrapped around his wrist and they waded, as easily as if this was just a lake, or even a swimming pool.

The sea was calm up here, its inky blackness a steady void, small waves lapping tamely at the shingle on the beach. Its surface did not belie the torrent underneath, and had he not being down there barely a minute ago, he couldn't have guessed the violence and force it was capable off.

They did not move to the sand, but instead travelled towards the rocks and caves where they could remain out of sight even on dry land.

He pulled himself up, his breathing harsh even against the sound of the sea, and sat on a relatively flat rock. He was soaked through, and the smallest breeze made him feel like he was freezing, but the night itself was relatively warm so he knew he'd be fine. He turned his eyes towards the boy still in the water.

"Harry."

The boy said nothing. He did not move to get out of the water either, but merely stayed where he was, staring up at him. His chest was bare, but miraculously enough his skin was not pimpled with goosebumps as it would've been if he had been cold.

"Harry," he said again. "I. I thought you were dead."

His voice was tighter than he intended, and he winced at the somewhat accusatory tone in that statement. It wasn't Harry's fault, he _knew_  that. The boy had had no choice left. No choice but to leave.

Harry smiled again. He seemed so calm, so at peace. It made him feel angrier in turn, when it seems like Harry didn't care, but he merely frowned.

"John," he finally said, lowering his eyes sadly. "Not yet. You can't abandon them like this."

"Them?"

Harry frowned. "Sam and Dean, John. Your children."

And suddenly he felt so very ashamed as he realised he'd not even spared a thought for his own children this entire time. Not when he'd jumped, and not when Harry had saved him. The only family he had left, and he'd planned to leave them clueless and alone in a hopeless world. He opened his mouth to say something, but Harry was shaking his head.

"They need you still. You owe them, John Winchester. You owe them to stay alive."

Harry's eyes on him did not waver as he said this, nor as John frowned, angry and stubborn.

"And you get to preach it to me, huh," he growled, and no no no, that was not what he meant, he wanted to take it back so badly the moment it was put of his mouth and _why did he say that_? But the damage was done, and he watched, heart heavy (and the stone was still there, weighing him down from within), as Harry's eyes darkened in sorrow and anger, and John remembered the power Harry had, and how terrifying it truly could be.

Harry was not Harry anymore as he faced him now, any shred of humanity gone from his face as he glared the human down. He seemed taller than John, bigger even as he remembered how much smaller he _really_  was compared to John, and he seemed to wear the night like a cloak.

John had never felt so insignificant.

"You, John Winchester, are a coward." The voice was cold, its opinions facts and its requests orders. "You come here to die after you have ruined your own sons' lives. Karma does not allow it," his voice dropped lower. " _I_ won't allow it."

He sat there, wide eyes on the terrifying visage of his lover (no, not anymore, not for a long time) and hated himself for what he had done to him, to turn the constantly optimistic boy into _this_. Into a nightmare. He looked into the face of this boy, and he looked into the face of death.

Harry (was he really Harry anymore?) lowered his voice again, and said in a softer tone, "Don't imagine this is for you. You have had a chance at redemption, and maybe you'll be offered another. But your life is still of use in other places. So go."

Those words hurt more than he had expected. He wasn't Harry's priority, not anymore, and he knew that. He'd made his peace with it a long time ago, but it hurt nonetheless.

He sighed dejectedly and made to stand up, balancing precariously on the edge of the rocks. He didn't look away from Harry, who looked more human now, smiling tightly. He smiled in response, but it was bitter, and unhappy.

"I love you," he dared whisper. Harry didn't even blink, and he sighed again. That hurt too, but again he had expected that. He took a step back carefully, so as not to fall, but still didn't look away from the pale body in the water.

"You're right, of course. You always are. I was being selfish," he paused, as if to give Harry a chance to speak. The man didn't, so he carried on.  
"I suppose my life doesn't even really belong to me anymore. I owe it. To them."

"You do. You had the responsibility to look after them, and you put them on this path. And so, you owe them." Harry blinked slowly and smiled softly, as if he wasn't aware of the effect his words had on John.

Again, not unexpected.

He took a breath. "So I'll do that. Go find them, help them."

"Save them," and then Harry looked impossibly sad. "Though I don't know if you even can, anymore."

John nodded awkwardly. "Right." His voice was soft, weak. He felt the sudden urge to jump back into the sea, but not in search of death, like before. He didn't, and instead dug his fingernails into his palm.

"Goodbye." Harry's eyes were almost luminescent in the dark, like they had their own light. Like they weren't human.

He didn't reply as he turned and moved slowly towards the beach, clothing still soaked. He didn't look back, and when he woke up in the back seat of his car the next day, he wondered if it had ever even happened.


End file.
